Vengeful Creations || ONC 2021

Chapter Ten

I awoke to a pain in my arm.

My eyelids fluttered like injured butterflies until I finally forced them open. It took several more seconds for the haze to leave my vision, but once it did, I could see a crude, antiquated needle protruding from my arm.

"Don't struggle," soothed a man's voice. "It will hurt terribly if you do."

Despite my sudden panic, my body was still too groggy to jerk away from the needle. I could feel that I was seated in a high-backed chair, but nothing specific beyond that. With an effort that caused me exhaustion, I turned my head toward the speaker.

Tawny hair with a severe part, pale eyes, black suit... The man who had called me by name. The man who had drugged me.

The associate of Madam Longwenier.

My eyes must have shown some type of recognition, because he hummed in amusement. The corners of his mouth pulled up ever so slightly — a crack in his stoic veneer.

"You've worked out my identity at last, have you?" he asked. He removed the needle from my arm and the sensation caused me to flinch.

"Dr. Cadaver," I murmured. My mouth hadn't yet decided to cooperate with my brain. My consonants came out like mush.

"Yesss, indeed," he said softly. "I'm glad I made some impression on you, dear creator. After all, in each novel you write me, I'm only a supporting character. Associate of Sir Wilhern... Associate of Madam Longwenier... Supporting parts are never quite as memorable as leads, are they?"

I blinked as hard as I could, as though I could magic myself away from him. Pages of my notebooks flipped through my mind.

NAME: Gil Rosencrantz
ALIASES: Dr. Cadaver
AGE: 31
OCCUPATION: physician of physiology, part-time Necromancer
LOCATION: London, England
TIME: the year 1901
WRITTEN WORK: (past) "Carpe Noctem" (completed), (present) "Masquerade of Murder"
STATUS: unfinished - writer's block
DESCRIPTION: obsessive perfectionist, total belief in "the end justifies the means," lacking moral code, objective: bring the dead back to life, stoic, emotionless, apathetic...

After aligning himself with Madam Longwenier, I'd had Dr. Cadaver 'rebrand' himself to accentuate his more sinister traits. But he was right: he was still a supporting character.

Dr. Cadaver held the full syringe up to the light. "Blood of the creator," he mused. "From the realm of the real. Truly, I never thought I'd possess anything like it. I cannot wait to see what happens when I inject this into the heart organ of a fresh corpse."

"You can't draw my blood without my consent," I said.

Dr. Cadaver sniffed and showcased the syringe before my face. "All evidence to the contrary."

I made to lunge at him, but found myself unable to move. I looked down. My arms, feet, and torso were held fast to the heavy wooden chair on which I sat by leather straps, like those of a horse's bridle.

I scowled. "You drugged me."

"Chloroform," Dr. Cadaver said in a bored voice. "Potent enough to fell a horse."

"How long was I out?"

He gave the grandfather clock in the corner a blasé glance. "Four hours, more or less."

I looked at the clock as well. The hands marked the time as few minutes to five, and by the weak light filtering through the thick windowpanes, I assumed that was PM. The heavy drapes were pulled back from the glass, revealing the overcast sky.

I gazed around the room. The chair that held me hostage was situated next to a massive wooden desk, the surface of which was littered with papers and medical equipment. Beyond the desk was a velvet-covered Chesterfield sofa and two matching chairs, all sporting blood-red cushions that matched the color of the drapes. A stylish hearth was embedded in the far wall, and a dreary Rembrandt painting was mounted above it. A crystal chandelier hung from the arched ceiling. There were two sets of double doors, one to my right and one to my left. I knew the doors to my right led to the kitchen. Those to my left led out into the main hall and the entrance foyer.